Everything's Gonna Be Alright
by Kinlor
Summary: "Dean wanted to be happy. Dean wanted to forget. Dean wanted to dance because God knew he didn't know how and neither did Charlie."


I don't own SPN or Sam or Dean because the wouldn't have such shit lives if I did.

I know, there is an OFC involved, oh my God. But don't worry. She really is just a friend. I don't really often dig that involving an OFC. I hate doing it myself. But, all things considered, I really like the way this turned out. The setting for this would be sometime in the later seasons, most likely the fifth, if there were time for such a thing to take place. This is my first fic using Charlie that is being posted but she's much more well established in other fics I have that aren't posted.

Anyway, r&r, and enjoy. thnx.

* * *

Somewhere in the back the opening chords to The Allman Brother's "Midnight Rider" echoed from the dying juke box as the albums switched per preselected request. Dean stared through the smoke-stained Plexiglas in some kind of haggard state of concentration, or perhaps it was just an alcoholic daze. He tapped the plastic in time with the music until the opening vocals, in which he pushed off, singing along in an off key rendition with a southern drawl, the last mouth full of amber sloshing in the bottom of a bottle between his index, thumb and middle fingers.

It was comforting, his off key melody. It was simple and familiar. At a time when the world was falling apart around them, it was a memory of when times, despite their trials, were easier. They woke up in the morning knowing what to expect, or maybe it was that they didn't know what to expect, because all they could expect now was the end of days.

Charlie drummed her fingers, a little off beat, against the warping wooden top of the bar, stool rocking precariously on two legs. Sam sat with his arms folded across the bar, staring into his slow going beer and absorbed the vibrations of the music from the jukebox, which at one point had been the cause of many headaches in the past, but had became a kind of reassurance. Relief.

"What are you doing?" Charlie's stool fell back on all fours when Dean pushed her foot from its perch on the footrest of Sam's. She repeated the question with tired indignation as Dean pulled her off the stool with as much grace as any drunken man.  
"Dancing." His grin met his eyes, and in the dim light of the dismally lit bar, the green orbs glittered.

Dean wanted to be happy. Dean wanted to forget. Dean wanted to dance because God knew he didn't know how and neither did Charlie.

"Dancing? How do you dance to "Midnight Rider"?"  
"You don't. You dance to this." He held up the beer bottle and drained the last of the uniform liquid before setting the empty bottle on the bar top and pulling her away.

Sam watched in a kind of unreserved amusement as Dean none too gracefully pulled the disgruntled young woman towards the clearing in the room between the jukebox and surrounding tables. Charlie gave a struggling, half hearted resistance to Dean's persistent tugs. The childish banter and feeble hitting became silly untimed, un-rhythmic and unrestrained spinning and stepping and laughing and smiles, and the two hunters relinquished the restrictions and expectations of their ages and the trials of their lives and danced in no uncertain way, without rhyme and reason, to that silly little thing called life.

It was an entertaining three minutes and 8 seconds, until the heavy vocals of the next song slowly washed over them and sobered the moment; slow at first then hitting hard.

_**Silent shadows of the night/ Faded with the morning light/ We just wrote another song/ Maybe a word or two is wrong**_

Dean went slightly rigid. Releasing Charlie's wrist, his face gave way. They stood. Still.

_**There's so much that could be said/ It's hard to write it in a line/ But when the final word is read/ Maybe something could be said**_

Sam watched that heavy, tired look come back into his brother's face and when that sharp, suggestive, feral smile left the room seemed to dim.

_**For all the brothers of the road/ Just like you, we bear a heavy load/ Been through hell and back again/ If we don't lose we're bound to win**_

There was an intensity in the air that was more significant now than any other time simply because they shared it together.

_**Somehow they gave it all a name/ Just like a southern hurricane/ We play our music like a storm/ they say a brand new sound was born**_

Dean's face broke into a shallow smile; thin and pale. His laugh was hollow and his eyes were muted. Sam's shoulders shifted uneasily. How quickly a song could change the mood.

_**We're all brothers of the road/ Just like you, we bear a heavy load/ Been through hell and back again/ If we don't lose we're bound to win**_

The severity of the moment, that sinking feeling, that realization that they'd been so desperately trying to escape was back, nipping at their heels.

_**Some of us fell along the way/ We came together, not too proud to pray/ But the music must go on/ So there's no one left out there all alone**_

The weight of the world and all those in it and all those who they'd lost pressed down on them.

_**We're just brothers of the road/ Casting shadows in the night/ Big wheels rolling on and on/ But everything's gonna be all right**_

Charlie swallowed every ounce of indignation, emotional incompetence and the screaming voice in her head, and with a mechanical stiffness that countered every one of her natural instincts, she put her arms around Dean's back and shoulders. The formality of the gesture melted quickly when the sentimentality of it took hold, and Charlie felt herself give in.

Every one of Dean's impulses were telling him to push away, but his body didn't respond the way his mind was screaming for it too. He was exhausted and frustrated and hurt, and he was tired of losing people he loved. He wanted to protect them, not throw them to the monster that had been dubbed his 'Destiny'. And he relaxed into the embrace because it was warm and comforting and that was all he wanted for once; a little calm before that inevitable storm.

Dean felt that stinging in his eyes, burying his face in Charlie's craned neck, and Sam said nothing because tomorrow it would be like this had never happened and the Winchesters would leave, running from their destiny to find a way to stop it.

"Everything's gonna be alright."


End file.
